It's bad when Dean cuts himself shaving. He jumps ten feet in the air and the razor goes the wrong way and Castiel's pressing a hand to his chin, observing, "You cut yourself," as blithely as though it isn't painfully clear that it was his appearance that caused that very accident.
It's not bad because of the blood. It's because now Dean has the feeling of Castiel's hand on his chin, and he's not likely to forget it.
"Out," he says. "Come back in through the door. Knock."
"Very well." Cas is gone and there's a knock at the door. Just like that. It's a good thing Dean hadn't gone back to shaving, because he jumps eleven feet that time.
-
It's worse when Dean's working out, on the bench press in a wife beater with his eyes squinted up at the ceiling, press up, back down, press up, back down, and press hello that's not a ceiling that's Cas and the barbell comes down and the wind's knocked out of him.
He's had the wind knocked out of him plenty of times. This is worse. It's worse because Castiel's helping him up, lifting the weight off of him and then sliding his hands around Dean's back, steadying his ribcage, Cas' human heart beating next to his for an instant.
"Some warning next time," Dean mutters when he can speak again.
"There was no place to knock." Castiel looks back at the glass doors to the gym, propped open on the balmy day.
Dean stalks off toward the locker room. "Don't follow me," he warns. He has to go shower off the almost-embrace and the sweat. It's a while before he comes back out.
-
The worst is when Dean's alone and miserable, all tapped out of energy after a fight that came down to nothing and all his anger drained into self-loathing.
"Knock," he roars before Castiel can say anything.
It's the worst because he knows Castiel's come for a reason. And whatever it is, that reason is not to comfort him, to touch him again or to put the arms around him that make him forget, for an instant, that the rest of the world with all its craptastic problems doesn't exist.
-
Castiel finally knocks.
Dean lets him in. "What's that look for, Cas?"
"It's frustrating," he says. "To knock. When I want to see you and I have to wait for you to answer the door."
"Welcome to life," Dean says with a shrug. "It's frustrating." He turns, swaggers away a few paces. "So why did you want to see me?"
Castiel is silent.
"What?" Dean looks over his shoulder.
"I just wanted to see you," Castiel says. "I don't have a reason." He has the same look on his face that Dean gets whenever he realizes how much Castiel has gotten under his skin.
It's satisfying. But it demands more.
"You've learned something," he says, husky, walking up to him and touching his chin right where Castiel had touched his, that first time.
Castiel's whole body vibrates, and he turns dark eyes up to Dean's. "Yes," he says, "I think I have."
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this is slashy, and sappy, and sort of random.
Date: 2009-12-07 06:12 pm (UTC)It's not bad because of the blood. It's because now Dean has the feeling of Castiel's hand on his chin, and he's not likely to forget it.
"Out," he says. "Come back in through the door. Knock."
"Very well." Cas is gone and there's a knock at the door. Just like that. It's a good thing Dean hadn't gone back to shaving, because he jumps eleven feet that time.
-
It's worse when Dean's working out, on the bench press in a wife beater with his eyes squinted up at the ceiling, press up, back down, press up, back down, and press hello that's not a ceiling that's Cas and the barbell comes down and the wind's knocked out of him.
He's had the wind knocked out of him plenty of times. This is worse. It's worse because Castiel's helping him up, lifting the weight off of him and then sliding his hands around Dean's back, steadying his ribcage, Cas' human heart beating next to his for an instant.
"Some warning next time," Dean mutters when he can speak again.
"There was no place to knock." Castiel looks back at the glass doors to the gym, propped open on the balmy day.
Dean stalks off toward the locker room. "Don't follow me," he warns. He has to go shower off the almost-embrace and the sweat. It's a while before he comes back out.
-
The worst is when Dean's alone and miserable, all tapped out of energy after a fight that came down to nothing and all his anger drained into self-loathing.
"Knock," he roars before Castiel can say anything.
It's the worst because he knows Castiel's come for a reason. And whatever it is, that reason is not to comfort him, to touch him again or to put the arms around him that make him forget, for an instant, that the rest of the world with all its craptastic problems doesn't exist.
-
Castiel finally knocks.
Dean lets him in. "What's that look for, Cas?"
"It's frustrating," he says. "To knock. When I want to see you and I have to wait for you to answer the door."
"Welcome to life," Dean says with a shrug. "It's frustrating." He turns, swaggers away a few paces. "So why did you want to see me?"
Castiel is silent.
"What?" Dean looks over his shoulder.
"I just wanted to see you," Castiel says. "I don't have a reason." He has the same look on his face that Dean gets whenever he realizes how much Castiel has gotten under his skin.
It's satisfying. But it demands more.
"You've learned something," he says, husky, walking up to him and touching his chin right where Castiel had touched his, that first time.
Castiel's whole body vibrates, and he turns dark eyes up to Dean's. "Yes," he says, "I think I have."
"Good," Dean says.
It is good. And it gets even better.